The Meaning of Family
by Stelra Etnae
Summary: They had been the first to settle there, the first who were not of his people to call him brother and love him as kin. Eventually they had to leave, but even the Fates couldn't keep family apart forever. A Canada-is-Vinland story
1. Bróðir

**_I absolutely love the fan-theory that Canada is Vinland, which would make him Norway and Iceland's little brother before long France found him. So here I am to join the bandwagon with a little fanfic of my own! This will be a set of three short ficlets. Hope you enjoy, and don't forget to leave a review!_**

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"_Norvegr_," a small voice stumbled a little over the foreign tongue as the tiny child wiggled around in the swath of blankets to face the older nation. They had not been there long enough for him to truly know the language as his own, and now he likely never would. Stubby hands curled around the rough material of the other's tunic. "Are you really leaving?"

"I have to return to my people, _skatten min_." Long fingers threaded through the boy's fair hair tenderly, then his lips quirked into a wry smile. "And I don't think your people like us very much."

"But _I_ like you," was the quiet reply, accompanied to maximum effect by large watery violets.

Norway chuckled. "Thank you, _Vinland_. I like you very much as well. No," he wrapped his arms around the smaller nation, setting his chin on the top of that fluffy head. "I _love_ you, _skatten min_. Don't forget that."

Silence settled, broken only by a soft sniffle as Norway continued to gently smooth down Vinland's hair. Soft fluffy strands that refused to lie completely flat, just like his own. It was a strange mixture of black and blond, the pale color slowly seeping into the inky black the longer that they stayed. And he knew without looking at Vinland's eyes had long turned into an exact match to Iceland's.

As if summoned by the thought, a third pale-haired figure approached the cozy scene, a child a few years older in appearance than the youngest. Vinland perked up, pushing himself up to sit straighter. "_Ísland_!"

Norway raised a blanket-swathed arm and Iceland dove gratefully into the space offered him.

"You're cold, _Ísland_!" Vinland giggled, scooting closer to Norway's warmth. Iceland just grinned, pressing icy fingers to the squealing child's cheeks. They scuffled playfully for a few minutes, tangling into the blankets. Norway felt bad about interrupting their fun, but there was business to take care of.

"What did the head say, _Ís_?"

The silver-haired boy dutifully turned serious. "The people are almost ready to leave, _bróðir_. We should be able to leave tomorrow."

Vinland paused in his wriggles to escape from the cocoon that had trapped him, head drooping again. "So soon?"

Iceland hugged the younger boy closer. "Sorry, _Vinland_." The child buried his face in Iceland's tunic, shaking his head in denial.

They sat there with heavy hearts, Norway gently running his hands over their hair in a soothing motion. It didn't take long for drowsiness to catch up with the two young ones, however, and eventually soft snores began to emit from both.

Norway smiled fondly at the two sleeping children in his arms. Tenderly he kissed each on the forehead. As he held his precious brothers close, he evoked an old blessing, wishing that they would grow up strong and brave.

"_Svá hjálpi þér hollar véttir, Frigg og Freyja og fleiri goð._" (So may mild Powers help you, Frigg and Freyja and many a God.)

They were to part soon, but it would not be forever.

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_**Disclaimer: The Old Norse blessing was taken from the website "Odin's Gift"**_

_**Norvegr is Norway in Old Norse (the modern Norwegian is Norge), and Ísland is obviously Iceland (both Old Norse and modern Icelandic).**  
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_**"Skatten min" is Norwegian for "my treasure" (Or so Google tells me, please do correct me if it's wrong). It's modern Norwegian, but I thought it was cute and I rather not butcher Old Norse by trying to translate it haha.  
**_


	2. Papa

_**Thank you for your reviews, favs and follows, everyone! Here's the second chapter, hope you like it!**_

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"Goodbye, _skatten min_." A kiss was pressed to his forehead. "We love you, never forget that."

Vinland awoke with unshed tears still clinging to his eyelashes, a name on his lips. Sighing, he pushed himself off his pallet, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he plodded towards the river to wash up. He spent a longer time than necessary there, staring at his blurry reflection in the water. At the violet eyes that were the same as Iceland's, at the mix of blond and black that adorned his head.

But when tears threatened again, he tore his gaze away and left the riverbank. He would not cry, not in the daylight. Not with the sun as witness, the sun that Norvegr had told him shone upon him and them alike.

As he returned from the river he could tell that the village was on edge. As he wandered further inwards, he caught more than one throw him an uneasy stare. He knew he looked strange to them, with this coloring that was a mixture of their and the Viking settlers who had once been here. But he was their nation, and they accepted him as they wouldn't anyone else in his position. Still he knew that his appearance made some of the older ones uncomfortable and the young ones curious.

As he neared the hut where the village chief lived, he realized what had set their guard up.

His people were whispering, of outsiders reaching the shores. It was those fair-haired ghosts again, they said, casting furtive glances around as if those newcomers could appear suddenly like the pale specters they resembled.

Vinland's heart leapt in his chest, not in fear or anger like some of his people, but in excitement. Had Norvegr and Ísland come back?

Wide eyes swiveled towards him as they registered his presence, as if knowing his thoughts, but his mind was already elsewhere. Unheeding the startled warnings of his people, he dashed towards the beach where he could feel those foreign presences.

He burst out from the forest into the sun, eyes darting around for ships and his brothers. It was such that he didn't realize that the travelers had already come further inland until he rammed into a pair of slim legs. Falling backwards onto the sun-warmed sand, he stared up at the tall figure that stood there silhouetted against the midday sun. The figure shifted closer, lessening the glare with his shadow, allowing Vinland to see his features clearly for the first time.

It was a stranger, who looked at him in surprise and no recognition. But this man had golden hair and blue eyes just like Norvegr, maybe he would know where Norvegr and Ísland were? Vinland asked, hopefully, using the tongue Norvegr had taught him.

But his face fell when the man's brows furrowed in confusion and responded in a strange tongue. The boy felt his bubble of hope slowly dwindle away and resisted the urge to cry. No, he was a strong boy now! Still, his lower lip wobbled just a bit.

Tilting his head in concern, the stranger bent down, bringing with him the smell of sweet musk and exotic flowers.

Vinland shrank away. Norvegr and Ísland had always smelled like fir trees, firewood and snow. They were from The Other Land, but their scents had been familiar. Not like this man with his strange foreign smells that tickled his nose. He had odd clothes too, Vinland thought. It looked soft and very light, clinging to the other's lanky form. So different from the rough wool he was used to.

Vinland gasped in surprise as the other easily picked him up. He said something again, in his strange lilting tongue, smiling all the time. Vinland decided that he liked that smile. It was different from Norvegr's, sharper and more open, but it was kind nevertheless.

So when the stranger didn't seem to want to let him down anytime soon, he allowed the swaying motion of his steps lull him to sleep, and as his eyes fluttered close he almost imagined that the hand smoothing down his hair was Norvegr's.

* * *

The man – he had, at the other nation's insistence, started to call him _Papa_ – had given him a new name, Canada. He tried it on his tongue every now and then as he went about his chores, along with the musical language – _Français_, _Papa_ had called it – that he was slowly becoming accustomed to. Canada still went to the shore to stare out at the horizon on icy days, but now he turned when France called him back.

His hair had finally turned completely blond, with a soft wave like France's but never lying quite as smooth. His eyes had turned bluer than before, but resolutely retained some of its violet hue, which he was thankful for. He wasn't sure how he would feel if he lost those reminders of his brothers as well. Day by day, he felt like he was starting to forget what they had looked and sounded like, and that scared him. So he clung on to the memory of bright violet eyes and fluffy blond hair that was reflected on his person.

Until the day he would find them once again, just like the cold day he had watched the ships come to his shores.


End file.
